To: No One In Particular
by D R A G O N L I L I E S
Summary: They'd hold him up high, so high his fingers could skim along the rim of the sky. So high that he had a farther distance to fall. The idea had never seemed that bittersweet and painful to Hitsugaya Toushirou until he realized he could feel.


"_To: No One In Particular_."

This was scrawled in thin, spindly writing across the top of the letter, some graphite smudging across the top in a silvery blotch. The paper had nothing else on it but a few other words: "_love_", "_lost_", "_curiosity_", and, of course, "_alone_."

It was a sort of a sentimental-looking paper, once one took a closer look at it. The words did nothing to induce this idea at all; no, there was just a softer air around the note, different from the sternness of a business document to the rough creativity of a fantasy novel's pages.

The trees nearly bent over with the ferocious force of the wind that day. The letter undoubtedly flapped wildly in the wind, trying to fly away, trying to be like a bird and wanting to go soaring into that clouded autumn sky along with the other reds and golds and browns. But the letter was white, and white does not fit in with the fiery brilliance, plain and normal amongst the more marvelous hues. So Hitsugaya Toushirou held the letter firmly in his hand, the paper crinkled and weathered-looking, worn and weary. The edges of the letter were now fuzzy and wiggly and undefined against his small hand. It looked like it'd been stomped on a lot of times- something he could identify to, but he was used to it. Besides, he knew the people around him just did it to try to intimidate him, but that word- intimidate- was something he wasn't really familiar with.

(_He could intimidate, yes, but he never had it the other way around, if you understood what he meant._)

The wind stopped temporarily, and the hair that had somehow become messier- though it was already in disarray before, anyway- fell around his head in a pale halo. Sighing, he smoothed out the unusually colored tuft until it looked at least a bit presentable for class, and looked up again at the sky. Dull eyes deprived of their former intensity he returned his tired gaze to the sheet clamped in his hand scanned the sheet over again, though there was really nothing to check. Maybe he just wanted to make sure that it was still here, he was still here, and that he had a whole lot to be grateful for and that he should just get up and live his life the way _they_ would have wanted him to live it before they were gone.

Normally, he'd never do anything like what he was attempting to do, anyway.

But, Hitsugaya Toushirou wasn't exactly normal anymore, was he? He'd changed so much.

As soon as you grasp at the feeling of belonging, it is a weird sensation, he had decided a seemingly long time ago. The impression stays with you, becomes so natural that you never give the people who don't have the emotion a second thought. But when the feeling leaves you, you become a hollow existence, just another pitiful nobody in the cold street, and then you wonder where you went wrong.

However, most of the people around him didn't care about belonging anyway, all being born with the emotion; he was just a bleached shell of clearness: an empty glass cup that no one noticed until they picked it up, gave it a place in their cupboard, thus making it feel like it was supposed to be _there_ with the rest of its kind. That one little cup was filling up day by day with the attention, glowing with pride and subtly careworn. But suddenly, in a swift, terrible moment, the cup slipped out of their fingers and dropped, now deemed worthless.

The cup would definitely shatter.

(_The idea had never really seemed that bittersweet and painful to him until he realized he could feel._)

But not _them_. Never_ them_. Definitely not _them_.

_They_ wouldn't drop him. They'd hold him up high, so high the tips of his fingers could skim along the rim of the sky, so high above the world. So high that like the tale of Daedalus and Icarus, if he ventured too close to the summit, he'd fall, fall so far down, because the higher you go, the farther you drop. And when their arms got tired, the descent was inevitable.

He wished he'd stopped the annoyingly persistent people that had somehow wormed their way into his life, wished he'd made himself so tart that they'd hate him like all those others who made the sign to counter the Evil Eye when he walked by.

(_But most of all, Hitsugaya Toushirou wished he'd been strong enough to say that they all just simply __left__ him, though it wasn't the truth. He just let them go, because he couldn't be the conscience that kept them tethered down all the time to the same old place, the same old world._)

Sighing again deeply, through his nose and out his mouth like his teacher had taught, he looked up at the grey-white atmosphere, a small circle of silvery light around where the sun was hidden under. Adjusting his light beige trench coat and straightening his black tie, smoothing out his white shirt- these were all a part of his school's uniforms, obviously- the model student closed his eyes, the fringe of charcoal black lashes creating soft shadows on his cheeks.

A heavy gale came back again, and he opened the teal orbs quickly, the world blinking into focus. He had kept asking himself what the white would look like with the other colors that fit in. He'd always believed that white stood out anywhere it was, that it didn't match, that it would always be something plain and unremarkable. He wondered, now, what it would look like without the aspect of loneliness in it.

Once the thought grabbed him, it didn't let go, sticking to him as firmly as a pestering cocklebur would onto a woolen sock. However, the reflection didn't annoy him as much as the idea that he was curious, because curious simply wasn't in his vocabulary.

(_It __wasn't__ supposed to be there, it was __never__ there to begin with, but how ironic; now it was, an unusual emotion in a person who was supposed to be completely devoid of feelings._)

The small hand that had kept its defiant clutch on the letter let go of the paper almost tenderly. He watched the letter avidly, an awkward bird in the air now, defiant and alive. It was a fairy, and it soared, climbing up with baby steps.

He waited for the burst of reds and golds and browns to come along any moment, but they never came.

Disappointed, he scuffed his heel along the sidewalk, making a noise of impatience and discontentment. Naturally, it was supposed to be one, but it sounded more like a strangled choke instead, and he began walking away slowly, deliberately placing each foot down and stomping on the concrete with a sort of dead force. The leaves lying on the ground crunched noisily under his shoes, the shiny new leather looking plastic rather than, well, leather.

(_Hitsugaya Toushirou wished that someone would find the letter and actually care._)

Then, he heard a rustling, a whoosh, and fiery brush of life. The dried leaves came wafting by again, spiraling into the heavens, radiant and burning. He came to an abrupt halt and spun around, eyes searching the skies again. Where was the white?

Finding that spot amidst the inferno of fall, He noticed his letter looked perfectly in place.

He smiled.

"_To: No One In Particular, huh?_"

And with the next gust of color, of life, of warmth- he was gone.

* * *

**AUTHOR(ess)'S NOTE:**

Righto, this might have been a bit confusing, so I'll explain the plot a bit down here. Basically, Hitsugaya Toushirou is one neglected genius of a kid, and moved up to freshman year in high school at 10. The rest of the gang- you know, Matsumoto, Renji, Ichigo, Rukia, the like- are in their third year, and they make friends with him, though he tries to kind of just shove them away. But you know how they are, stubborn to the boot, and they become his friends. But then the third years move up to the last year, and then they have to graduate. They suggest studying at a local college, but Hitsugaya refuses to let them do so because he wants them to lead a good life, and so even though they argue a lot, the gang goes off, and Hitsugaya's back to square one. This is just him soon after and sort of just thinking about it.

Reviews?

I think this one is worse than my other one, The Cost to Fly. Eek.


End file.
